狄更斯的小说特点 狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第30章Part 7

狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第30章Part 7  

'Or would next day
' said Mr Dombey
'suit your engagements better?'
'I have no engagements. I am always at your disposal. Let it be when you like.'
'No engagements
my dear Edith!' remonstrated her mother
'when you are in a most terrible state of flurry all day long
and have a thousand and one appointments with all sorts of trades-people!'
'They are of your making
' returned Edith
turning on her with a slight contraction of her brow. 'You and Mr Dombey can arrange beeen you.'
'Very true indeed
my love
and most considerate of you!' said Cleopatra. 'My darling Florence
you must really e and kiss me once more
if you please
my dear!'
Singular coincidence
that these gushes of interest In Florence hurried Cleopatra away from almost every dialogue in which Edith had a share
however trifling! Florence had certainly never undergone so much embracing
and perhaps had never been
unconsciously
so useful in her life.
Mr Dombey was far from quarrelling
in his own breast
with the manner of his beautiful betrothed. He had that good reason for sympathy with haughtiness and coldness
which is found In a fellow-feeling. It flattered him to think how these deferred to him
in Edith's case
and seemed to have no will apart from his. It flattered him to picture to himself
this proud and stately woman doing the honours of his house
and chilling his guests after his own manner. The dignity of Dombey and Son would be heightened and maintained
indeed
in such hands.
So thought Mr Dombey
when he was left alone at the dining-table
and mused upon his past and future fortunes: finding no uncongeniality in an air of scant and gloomy state that pervaded the room
in colour a dark brown
with black hatchments of pictures blotching the walls
and enty-four black chairs
with almost as many nails in them as so many coffins
waiting like mutes
upon the threshold of the Turkey carpet; and o exhausted negroes holding up o withered branches of candelabra on the sideboard
and a musty smell prevailing as if the ashes of ten thousand dinners were entombed in the sarcophagus below it. The owner of the house lived much abroad; the air of England seldom agreed long with a member of the Feenix family; and the room had gradually put itself into deeper and still deeper mourning for him
until it was bee so funereal as to want nothing but a body in it to be quite plete.